


The Words I Try to Find

by GoodnightDearVoid97



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: F/M, fluff with a hint of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodnightDearVoid97/pseuds/GoodnightDearVoid97
Summary: Sharon and Andy spend their lives together, learning more about one another every day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Today's transfer is set in March 2016, a few months before 5x01. This could be considered a prequel to "Everything," since there are rumblings of that argument here that our lovers aren't ready to confront, but it's mainly shameless fluff! The rating is for suggestive sexual content, but nothing too scandalous. No beta this time (because I finished at 1:00 a.m., and all reasonable people are asleep), so all mistakes are my own.

_Five more minutes_ had never been a voiced request in their bedroom. Every morning that he stayed over, Andy's alarm blared first, but he rolled out of bed last. He set five alarms, five minutes apart, until the sun peered over the horizon and demanded his consciousness. Sharon relied on the first of his five to wake her, but most mornings, she couldn't bring herself to rise until the second alarm. After reaching over to slap at his phone, Andy would roll to face Sharon, drape his arm around her middle, and tuck her into his chest. Sharon, still clinging to sleep, would reach up and tangle her fingers in his hair or skim her fingers over his forearm. As soon as his second alarm roused them again, Sharon would slip out of bed when Andy rolled over to quell the impertinent interrupter, only to grunt when his arm fell against Sharon's empty spot.

On this rare cloudy morning, however, when Andy's second alarm sounded, he squeezed her hip and murmured, "Don't move," in her ear. After another late night at the office, Sharon's strong will was more pliable, so she only moved to bury her face further into her pillow. Within seconds, Andy had wrapped himself around her again, groaning as Sharon stretched, wiggling to attain the space he refused to supply.

"I have a crazy idea," Andy growled into her ear.

Sharon snickered, brushing her ass against his crotch. "You always have a crazy alternative to getting out of bed," she giggled. And she always enjoyed it.

As penance for her seduction, Andy nibbled on her earlobe and splayed his hand over her bare stomach. Their late night had ended by acting on one of Andy's deliciously crazy ideas, and they'd only bothered to clean up and pull on underwear before passing out.

"Let's sleep in," Andy said. When Sharon scoffed, Andy abandoned his shameless flirtation, slid both arms around her middle, and squeezed. "Come on, Sharon," he whined. "We wrapped up the case, we haven't been called in—let's just not go to the gym just this  _one_  morning. That way, if Taylor does call, we can sleep right through it."

"Yes, I'm sure Chief Taylor would be thrilled with my usurpation," Sharon muttered, squirming in an attempt to get comfortable with one of Andy's arms under her ribs.

"Babe, it's too early to use words like  _usurpation_ ," Andy sighed into her neck.

"Hmm, yes, I forgot that your vocabulary is rather restricted in bed," Sharon teased.

Andy pinched Sharon's thigh and smiled when she yelped. "Sorry, Captain. Next time I'll read the dictionary to get you off."

Sharon's burst of laughter probably woke Rusty, giving him the opportunity to start his day with an eye roll. "I'm getting up now," she sighed. "Your next alarm goes off in three minutes."

She squeaked when Andy suddenly yanked his arms from around her, rolled her onto her back, pinned her to the bed with his lower body, and flung one arm (and most of his upper body) at his nightstand. Ignoring Sharon's cries of confusion, Andy yanked his phone from its charger and silenced all his alarms without alleviating the pressure trapping everything below Sharon's pelvis.

"Oh, I see," Sharon taunted. She raised her arms above her head in a tantalizing stretch, the sheet inching down her creamy chest. "You think turning off your alarms negates the necessity to wake. How precious."

Ignoring the unsettling clap of his phone on the floor, Andy planted his hands on either side of Sharon's head. "It eliminates some distractions," he said, his face looming over hers.

Sharon's eyebrow arched of its own accord. "We're up to four-syllabled words now?"

For a moment, when Andy smiled at her, his seductive pretense vanished, and he surrendered to genuine amusement. For a moment. "I'm quick. You love it."

Curling her hands around the head of the mattress, Sharon grinned deviously. "You know what I love?"

Andy hoped that Sharon couldn't feel him tensing.  _He_  loved her, obviously, but even after the clot scare, he hadn't mustered the courage to tell her. In the eight months since their relationship finally became official, the only time he'd seen Sharon afraid had been in those frantic moments before his surgery, when the nurse wheeled him around the corner with a confession on the tip of his tongue and regret in the tears of her eyes.

Eyes alight, chest delectably bare, and smile confident as ever, Sharon didn't look scared now.

Turning his earlier antics against him, Sharon wrapped a leg around Andy's hips and used the power behind her own to flip them over. Their mingled laughter proved that waking Rusty no longer dictated their innocent fun. Sharon considered herself a happy person, even before she invited Andy into her life, but God, how she'd missed freedom in laughter. Rusty, of course, brought her joy and light, but she couldn't completely be herself with Rusty. With Andy, she could let go, without the burden of upholding the sainthood that Rusty—and her other children—had appointed her. Without hesitation, Sharon cackled at Andy's dirty jokes, corny puns, and tickling hands.

And yet, when Andy finally asked what it was she loved, Sharon reverted to the delight he'd dropped into her life to shirk the real answer. "I love strong arms that hoist me up against your front door," she sighed, perched just above his hips.

Andy hid his disappointment behind a groan in response to her visual. Someday, they'd both have courage.

Biting her lip to hide her own disappointment, Sharon ran her hands up Andy's biceps. "And I know how hard you work to keep them that way." When Andy only rolled his eyes, Sharon glimpsed the dark half-moons under Andy's eyes and wondered at the impossibility of not seeing them before. His surgery prompted Sharon to pay special attention to his moods and sleeping patterns, but even after their latest case's troubling conclusion, Sharon had allowed Andy to distract her before she could gauge his pain.

Andy squeezed her hips with a furrowed brow. "What is it?"

Sharon raked her fingers through Andy's tussled hair. "Did you sleep last night?" Andy's refusal to meet Sharon's eyes, in which he'd been lost only seconds before, told Sharon everything. "Oh, darling, why didn't you wake me?"

"And rob you of sleep before your exercise?" Andy smirked.

Sharon swatted his chest and climbed off him. Her robe lay discarded on the bench at the foot of her bed, and she immediately swathed herself in it. With clothes on, surely Andy would know she meant business.

Meanwhile, Andy propped himself up his elbows and protested her suddenly-onset worries. After tying her robe tighter than necessary, Sharon yanked their curtains together, shielding them from any light that could possibly seep through the clouds. "Babe, it's nothing. It was just a tough case. It happens."

No sooner had he uttered the words did Sharon throw the covers back over him and climb back into bed. "I should have checked on you," she insisted as her hair splayed across her pillow.

Andy sighed, realizing the increasing likelihood of defeat. "That's not your job," he said.

Sharon rhythmically combed her fingers through Andy's hair. "Isn't it? You check on me." Before Andy could refute her point, she tugged a little harder at his silver strands and narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't you dare say that it's different." She wasn't  _really_  angry, since he hadn't had the opportunity to say the wrong thing, but he had to learn her limits somehow. "I hope you consider that part of being in a relationship."

Andy stilled Sharon's hand and kissed her palm. "Of course," he said. For now, he would refrain from voicing his concerns about her continuing the constant care (and worry) she so freely gave when he fell. He'd recovered almost completely, and the days of Sharon's diligent reminders for Andy to take his pills and check his blood pressure had long passed. Surely the residual effects would join the other habits associated with that dark time of their relationship.

So instead, with another shit-eating grin, Andy said, "I have to make up for all those years of being a pain in your ass, don't I?"

His charm did not have the desired effect. Sharon only rolled her eyes and sat up, tugging the sheet over her chest. "Andy, I'm serious," she huffed.

"So am I!" Andy's voice increased in pitch and volume, which never failed to amuse Sharon, whether she let a smile slip or not. "Listen, Sharon," he continued, propping up on one elbow. "I want to make you happy, every day for as long as we're together."

As touched as Sharon was by Andy's confession, she averted her eyes. "Through no fault of your own, that's not possible."

"No, it's not." His voice returned to its morning calm, before the murders, before the spars with Rusty, before the panic. "So can we both agree to let each other try our best?"

Sharon nodded stiffly, battling dissatisfaction with the conversation's impending conclusion and the desire to simply let it go. "Trying our best and taking care of each other—that takes a special kind of trust," she said, ghosting her fingers over his chest. "I trust you."

 _Those words, God those words_. Sharon, who had parents she loved and missed, who swam like an Olympian, who held her liquor, who longed for her kids at Christmas, who danced to Lionel Richie. What a precious soul with which to be trusted.

"Will you trust me to do what's best for you?" Sharon asked, eyes sharpened by intent and determination.

"I love you." Those words tumbled out in a breath before Andy could change his mind. "I love you, and I trust you with my life."

Sharon blinked several times, eyes damp and mouth agape. She believed him. "I—I don't—"

Andy shook his head and gently pressed his fingers against Sharon's damp lips. "It's okay. I'll wait."

Tear seeping out of her eyes, Sharon kissed Andy's calloused fingers. "No, Andy, you don't understand." For the first time in years, those words didn't fill her with resentment or regret. They gave her a thrill, warming her from her cheeks to her toes. "I don't know if telling you is enough."

"I assure you—it is."

Finding comfort in his levity, Sharon laughed breathlessly and weaved their fingers together. "I love you." Once she spoke, she couldn't stop the rest of the confession. "Desperately and completely and for _so_  long. I wanted to tell you, but I was so afraid and cautious and altogether emotionally wrecked—"

Though interrupting her twice would have usually made Sharon angry, Andy figured interjecting with a kiss would soften the blow. Sharon hummed into his mouth and inched closer, sliding her leg between his. Their emotional freedom left no time to contemplate the necessity of oxygen, so they spent the next several minutes parting for gasps and smiles and the occasional  _I love you_. By the time Andy's mouth slithered down her neck, Sharon's lips tingled, her chest bare and heaving again. "Andy, wait," she gasped. She bit back a moan when he nibbled on the side of her breast. "You need to rest."

"Trust me. We'll both rest plenty when I'm finished making love to you," Andy murmured against her nipple.

Sharon squirmed, finding she liked the friction of the satin against her back. "You better grab a dictionary," she teased. "You were feeling a little confident earlier, and I want to see you follow through."

Andy paused at her navel, resting his chin above her bellybutton. "I'll do my best without one," he promised. "We'll start with the obvious. Aardvark."

Before Sharon could break into a giggling fit, Andy tugged at her panties with his teeth and let them snap back onto her sensitive skin. Sharon whimpered and reached for him, but Andy remained preoccupied with his promise.

"Abdomen." His kiss to her panty line. "Abominable." His tug and her shimmy. "Adore." His head between her legs. "I'll spell the rest."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set in a sort of AU season 6 (no cardiomyopathy), and based on a prompt from the lovely glittermaid18 on Tumblr: "The Sharon and the Captain sides of her closet/Andy seeing her in the closet for the first time." In this case, she's a Commander ;)

Over the years, Andy had seen Sharon nearly everywhere, feeling nearly everything. Fuming in her office down in FID, dousing himself and Provenza with the chill of her gaze in the murder room, laughing with her daughter draped over her lap in one of the breakroom chairs, biting her thumbnail at Serve, mouth agape and panting in the shower, sobbing over Dwight Darnell on the kitchen floor, radiating happiness all the way down the aisle.

Therefore, when he realized he had never seen his wife in her closet before, Andy had to stop and stare.

Ever the delicious temptation, Sharon's skin caught Andy's attention on his way to his dresser. When he first moved in, Sharon cleared out a drawer for his undershirts, pajamas, and underwear. With her closet space, Sharon had been surprisingly more generous. Her armor of blazers and skirts and silk blouses eclipsed her jeans and sweaters she preferred at home, but all of it was precious to her. He got to see it all. Every morning, she marched out and amazed him—dressed as the Commander, tucking a patterned blouse into her black skirt (or God forbid, pants), or dressed as Sharon, wrapping herself in a tan cardigan or sauntering in a jaw-dropping negligee. He got to see it all. If his job was to wait for her, she made sure he knew he had room when she invited him in.

When Andy peered into the walk-in closet, Sharon stood on the Commander side of her closet, but with her back bare and her hair wet, she hybridized her look. Standing in front of him was a physical manifestation of what he felt when he saw her every day, never through only one lens. Whenever the rare opportunity presented itself, he stole glances at her from the other side of her office window or from across their kitchen table, and he would feel in those instances what he saw now—his boss, his wife, his lover, his rock, his partner, and his superior in every way.

With a gentle pull on her zipper, the base of Sharon's lower back disappeared underneath two joined ends of her black skirt. (There is a God.) His eyes followed her hand—past the jut of her hip and her winding curves, over the shoulder he kissed every morning that he woke first—to where it landed on her neck, massaging firmly to no avail. She bit her lip and put her hand to better use, sifting through each blouse before selecting one of his favorites—a white, silky concoction she refused to let him touch while excited.

_"Don't," she'd giggled in the foyer one night, when he'd pulled too hard on a button. "Andy, this is my favorite blouse."_

_He wove his hand past the silk and into her bra. "I can work with it on."_

_"I can't."_

"Andy?" Holding her blouse over her encased breasts, Sharon smirked at him, eyes flickering down to his boxers. "Good morning to you," she teased. "All this time, and I didn't know this look did it for you." She briefly posed—one knee bent, back arched, and a hand draped over her forehead—before giggling and reverting to her earlier position with a smile too dazzling for so early in the morning.

Andy leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his undershirt. "Everything you do does it for me. Isn't that what a honeymoon is supposed to prove?"

Sharon hummed and slid her arms through the sleeves, flicking her hair out of the collar. "Well, hold that thought. At this rate, we'll already be late."

Before she could touch the buttons, Andy swooped in and slid his arms beneath the silk and onto her hips. After all this time, he could never put his finger on the difference between the material and her skin. "It's a tradition to be late after a vacation," he argued. "Especially a honeymoon."

Sharon snorted, flicking her growing bangs out of her eyes, but she didn't wiggle away. "Just because it's always been your  _tradition_  to be late  _whenever_  it suits you does not mean I have to agree."

Cocking an eyebrow, Andy said, "So you're invalidating my sense of occasion?

"Yes."

"What, no hesitation? No consideration?"

"No."

"God, that voice. So hot."

"Andy!" Sharon squealed when he lifted her onto a conspicuously empty shoe shelf. "Andy, this is  _not_  meant to hold people!" she hissed, squirming carefully in his hold.

Though he knew he shouldn't find her concern so amusing, Andy laughed and leaned on the shelf to prove his point. "It does. Trust me."

"This is not the time for wishful thinking," Sharon said, peeling Andy's fingers off the sanded wood.

"Remember your surprise birthday party last year?" Andy asked. He nodded to the shelving above Sharon's dresses. "We hid your party stuff up there, and Rusty and I had to climb on this shelf to reach."

Sharon finally stopped wiggling, but the stare she fixed Andy didn't entirely convince him that he was out of the woods. "You put an unrefrigerated cake in a  _closet_?"

Andy sighed and rested his head on her sternum. "Babe, you're killing me, here."

"You're lucky you didn't kill us all, serving spoiled cake—"

In that moment, kissing Sharon met two of Andy's needs. Relieved when she giggled in his mouth, Andy combed his fingers through her hair and massaged the base of her skull. Her mewl told him that he'd found the elusive spot she'd been searching for. As much as he enjoyed her sleeping on his shoulder for most of the ten hours home, they both regretted their sentimentality when they woke.

Pulling back just enough to tease, he murmured, "Mike brought the cake, Sharon. We hid it in his very freezing refrigerator."

"Oh, that was sweet," Sharon said, eyes hardly open, voice distant. "I don't want to talk about Mike right now."

Andy grinned and sucked on her earlobe. "No? What do you want to do?"

"I want to be traditionally late to work. On three conditions." Sharon latched onto his neck. "Very quiet."  _Kiss_. "Very hard."  _Suck_. "Very fast."  _Bite_.

Andy's hands snaked around her waist and tugged at her zipper. "Yes, Commander."


End file.
